


Rara Avis

by glymr



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-06
Updated: 2009-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-03 19:37:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glymr/pseuds/glymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fellow Kryptonians," he said, "As always, I have saved the best for last. Tonight, the star performer will once again dazzle and delight your eyes. A slave raised from birth to give nothing but the most exquisite pleasure to the senses," he gave the audience a lascivious smile, "The Boy of Wonders!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The House of the Earth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/623712) by [Mithen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen). 



> Inspired by mithen's series, "The House of The Earth", though this is not part of her continuity. Written and posted with her permission and approval (and with much hand-holding on her part, for which I will be forever grateful).
> 
> Dedicated to mithen, whose stories inspired me to start writing again, and with special thanks to fictionalknight for the helpful beta.
> 
> "Rara Avis" is basically fanfiction of [The House of The Earth](http://archiveofourown.org/works/623712/chapters/1126039), and like all fanfiction, won't make much sense unless you are familiar with the source material. Also, it very much pales in comparison to the original. In other words, go read her story first!

Kal watched in awe as the humans turned handsprings and performed startling acrobatic feats on the tiny wire high above the ground. There was nothing but hard, unforgiving earth below, and should one of them slip-

His breath caught in his throat in spite of himself, and then a familiar disgust welled up in him. The Kryptonian race, so brave, so strong, so superior...but how many of them would have dared to dance, light as thistledown, on a wire so far above the ground? How many would have dared, without invulnerability, without flight, without their extraordinary strength? His lips quirked in a grim smile as he tried to imagine Syra dressed in a frilly pink tutu, twirling fearlessly, nothing but a thin wire between her and death.

There was no applause, of course. Talented Kryptonians might merit applause, but slaves were merely slaves. The announcer came out again, he was a lower-caste Kryptonian, sterile, forced to make his living buying cheap slaves and breeding them or shaping them into more appealing wares, and by providing entertainment for his betters.

"Fellow Kryptonians," he said, "As always, I have saved the best for last. Tonight, the star performer will once again dazzle and delight your eyes. A slave raised from birth to give nothing but the most exquisite pleasure to the senses," he gave the audience a lascivious smile, "The Boy of Wonders!"

Kal caught his breath, but not in fear this time. The young man standing in the center ring could have been a youthful Bruce. He couldn't be more than 13 or 14 or so, thought Kal wildly. Was it possible that Bruce had a son he didn't know about? Biting his lip, Kal suddenly realized that it was all too possible. Syra's cool words came back to him, _"He'd make a good stud to my Mercy...I'm trying to get a more decorative strain...The blue eyes are a nice feature."_ The scene at the party floated before his mind's eye, slaves forced to caress each other, mate with each other. Unconsciously he dropped his hand to Bruce's head, combing his fingers through the dark, silky strands.

The boy began to dance.

The melody was an old Kryptonian one, though eerie-sounding when played on human instruments. The awe he'd felt before returned as the child tumbled and somersaulted, every move graceful, inviting, as though asking the audience to join him in the dance. The sparkling golden cloak he wore swirled with each movement, extending it, making it foreign, esoteric, as though he were some strange creature from a forgotten planet rather than a thirteen-year-old boy in sequins.

What had _he_ been doing when he was thirteen, Kal wondered suddenly.

Well, he'd been in school, of course. Studying.

He thought of the dedication and training that it must have taken to become so skilled at this art, and shame flooded him again, a different kind of shame. No slave could have been forced to this; you might beat a man a hundred times a day, but you could never make him dance like this. The boy himself had chosen this...Kal was certain of it, somehow. And he...he had lived nearly twice as long as this boy...well, more than half again as long, his mind corrected, and what had he accomplished in that time? Had he truly learned anything worth knowing? What could he do that was _worth_ doing? The Kryptonians surrounding him in their seats seemed so many empty shells, strength and power and even beauty on the outside, but hollow, hollow within when compared to this single human child.

The pace of the dance was increasing, subtly but steadily, and the boy's movements became more and more sensual. Appreciation rippled through the assembled watchers, and a murmur of desire. He flirted with them, now beckoning, now swirling away in a whirl of shimmering fabric. Faster and faster the boy spun, until, suddenly, naturally, his feet left the floor.

There was a gasp from the audience in spite of themselves, and an angry murmur - had they been tricked? Was this a Kryptonian _masquerading_ as a slave? Before any real anger could take hold, however, the boy swung himself down and around, and the mechanism turned, revealing itself. It was a glass pole strung between two thin wires, so thin that they were invisible even to Kryptonian eyes unless one was looking *very* carefully. A few of the audience members chuckled, acknowledging the trick to the slave master, and the boy's smile widened. His eyes flashed as the music changed, winding through the space with a new rhythm. The contraption began to swing hypnotically, back and forth, higher and higher, until, at the peak of its arc he flew away from it, flew like a bird, like a bird! Kal swallowed the cry in his throat and glanced down at Bruce, then found himself startled anew. Bruce was staring at the stage as though mesmerized, his mouth very slightly open, his brows drawn together in a frown. As Kal watched his face, Bruce's eyes widened and he bit his lip slightly. Kal looked up and saw the boy sailing through the air again, effortless, confident, and free.

Except for the silver collar that caught the light with every move he made.

* * *

Interlude 1:

The dinner after the show was a fancy affair. Only the most Elite Kryptonian families were in attendance, so of course the House of El made an appearance. Kal nibbled at his food, not really listening to the conversations around him until his attention was caught by someone a few seats down.

"...Boy of Wonders for sale?"

He glanced up, looking for the speaker, and his fingers tightened on his glass. Kash-Ar was grinning at their host, his handsome face cheerful and his eyes only slightly unfocused.

Their host smiled ingratiatingly even as he demurred, "Well, years of training go into a slave like him, of course. He's not just some ordinary slave. And he really should be given a chance to ripen to his *full* maturity." Kash-Ar's pleasant expression began to fade, replaced by something ugly, and the host hurried on, "Of course, he often spends time with...special...patrons after a show. A token of my esteem." He leered. "He is a boy of _many_ talents."

Kal swallowed. Beside him he could feel Bruce tensing as well, but if it was because he noticed Kal's tension or because of the conversation, Kal did not know.

"Is the House of El one of your 'special patrons'?" Kal asked quietly, but his voice carried across the table. He sat up straight, regal, and did not even look at Kash-Ar.

The slave-master's eyes darted nervously between the two of them. "Of course," he said easily. "The Houses of Ar and El are both valued-"

"I believe I had first claim," said Kash-Ar, looking at Kal-El steadily.

"And I believe the House of El is older than the House of Ar," said Kal, his voice even.

There was a moment of silence around the table as the other conversations trailed off, watching the standoff between the two men. Finally Kash-Ar's eyes dropped. "I yield my claim," he growled.

Kal allowed a small smile to rest on his lips for a moment, then took another sip of wine. Bruce pressed close to his leg, but did not attempt to send him a single message.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy stilled completely, his hands clasped together tightly, his heart pounding in Kal's ears more loudly than it had for the entire evening. He took a breath before he replied, unable to quite keep the edge of trembling eagerness from his voice.
> 
> "I can dance to anything."

The young man who glided into the room moved with a confident and conscious grace, every movement deliberately sensual. He had exchanged his exotic costume of earlier for one that was just as exotic, but left considerably less to the imagination. Kal stared at him, realizing that the sparkling feather pattern was literally painted onto the boy's torso. He wore no actual clothing but a tight pair of glittering shorts and a sheer cloak.

Smiling sweetly, the boy bowed to Kal and spoke in a musical voice, "I am here to serve you, my Master. What is your desire?"

"...Oh. Um..." said Kal silently cursing himself. _What did you expect?_ said a sardonic voice in his head that sounded uncomfortably like Bruce's.

The young man advanced on him carefully, casting his eyes down demurely, and went down on his knees before Kal. "Oh Master," he said, his voice throbbing with passion, "I saw you in the audience tonight, watching me, and more than anything I wanted, wanted you to be _the one_."

Kal backed away without thinking about it, feet skimming above the carpet until his legs bumped against the bed. He cleared his throat. "The one?"

"The one to bed me tonight, perhaps even the one to," his voice dropped, echoing with longing, "to purchase me, to own me forever." He crawled toward Kal, his movements only slightly predatory.

Without thinking, Kal flew higher, out of the boy's reach. "Won't you come down to me, Master?" said the boy breathlessly. Then he laughed, "Or perhaps you want me to fly to you?" He stood up and, with a wonderful leap, jumped onto the bed, flipped through the air, and ended with his arms and legs wrapped around Kal. "Kiss me, Master," he whispered. "Kiss me and take me away from all of this."

Nausea rose in Kal. "Don't," he said quietly. "Please don't do that."

The boy froze, his brows darting together for a moment. Then the expression cleared as if by magic and the boy let go of him, dropping lightly to his feet and then falling to his knees. "Forgive me, Master." Tears spilled down his cheeks. "Will you punish me now, Master, for my insolence?"

Kal glanced at Bruce and surprised a look of amusement in his eyes. With a sigh Kal said, "You don't need to do that, either."

The boy stopped crying and blinked at him. Quick as light shifting through leaves, his expression became more child-like, his whole demeanor shifting again. "Didn't I do it right, Master?" he said. "I was only doing what they told me to do," his lip trembled, but this time he bravely blinked away the tears.

 _"Stop it!"_ Kal darted down to seize his shoulders and the boy flinched and went limp in his grasp, pliant, ready to withstand anything from a kiss to a slap or a violent shaking.

Taking a breath, Kal slowly released his hold and said, "Did I hurt you?"

The boy's face went very blank. "No."

"Good," Kal said, and then, scrambling for the pieces of the shattered illusion, he added, "I wouldn't want to damage my gracious host's wares."

A sardonic look came into the boy's eyes for a moment, and Kal knew that other Masters had not been so concerned for their host's property.

"I brought you here because..." _because I wasn't going to let Kash-Ar beat you black and blue. I know how that man treats his slaves_ "I wished to...see you dance again."

The boy looked at him. "You wish me to dance for you?" Across the blankness of his face there flickered something like pleasure, something like a shy happiness. Then his features settled into a calm, professional expression. "Of course, Master. What melody would most please you?"

Kal remembered voices rising into the night, mingling. "I'm so tired of all the usual Kryptonian songs," he complained. "I want something different."

The boy looked at him, waiting. "Master?"

"Can you dance to Earth music? That would certainly be a change."

The boy stilled completely, his hands clasped together tightly, his heart pounding in Kal's ears more loudly than it had for the entire evening. He took a breath before he replied, unable to quite keep the edge of trembling eagerness from his voice.

"I can dance to anything."

"Well, go ahead, then. I'm sure it will be amusingly primitive," Kal yawned.

The slave crossed the room to the panel inset in the wall; a simple interface to allow slaves to access the house computer crystals and arrange things like light, temperature, and music at a Master's order. He switched the display from pictograms to English and began to navigate, until suddenly he stopped, the screen flashing. "Master," he said quietly, "I am not allowed to access the Earth archives."

Kal allowed his irritation to show on his face. "These silly restrictions," he muttered, but gave an override command.

The boy's heart leaped as he was given access, his fingers beginning to fly over the panel, calling up list after list. Tension sang in his shoulders, his becoming movements sharp, almost desperate. After a minute or so he finished, his hand hovering over the panel. "I have chosen a few random pieces, Master," he said, not looking at Kal. "I hope my selections will...amuse you." He tapped the screen one last time and the room filled with liquid music.

* * *

Interlude 2:

"You've been dancing for quite awhile," said Kal gently. "Come and lie down."

The boy was practically asleep on his feet, but there was still a hint of disappointment in his eyes as he crossed the room to the panel. Before he could shut off the music, Kal spoke again. "Oh, let it play." The boy smiled like he couldn't help it and climbed into bed. Kal brushed his fingers through the dark, sweat-soaked hair, even finer than Bruce's.

The boy's eyes slipped closed, but he wasn't asleep yet. He was _listening_. Listening to the music as though he could burn it into his mind. Kal remembered the way the conscious sensuality of the boy's performance had slipped away, the carefully hidden strength gradually revealed as his movements became no less graceful, but firmer, more self-assured.

In spite of himself the boy was sliding into sleep now; Kal could hear his heartbeat slowing, the pattern of his breathing changing. He brushed his fingers through the boy's hair again and a strange wave of tenderness welled in him as he stared down at the boy's face, innocent and slack with sleep. He wished desperately that he could protect this boy, this child. The last song finished, the final note hanging in the air like a question. Kal looked up to find Bruce's eyes upon him.

"Master," he whispered, and made a small sign. _We need to talk._

Kal sighed and carefully rearranged the boy on the bed, covering him with a blanket, then followed Bruce into the other room, into the sphere of silence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Kal," said Bruce, his own voice low. "There are millions of slave children in this world. You helped at the birth of a slave boy, you held him in your own hands, and in a few years he will work your fields, his hands scarred by red sap. Is he any less deserving? Why not take him in, shelter him? Why not take in all of them?"
> 
> The words burned Kal. He buried his face in his hands. "But this one is special," he whispered.
> 
> "They're all special." The words were flat.

Bruce did not speak immediately, but studied his face for a long time, his own expression unreadable. Finally he said gently, "You _can't_ , Kal."

He scowled. "I just want to _save_ him!" he burst out.

"Kal," said Bruce, his own voice low. "There are millions of slave children in this world. You helped at the birth of a slave boy, you held him in your own hands, and in a few years he will work your fields, his hands scarred by red sap. Is he any less deserving? Why not take him in, shelter him? Why not take in all of them?"

The words burned Kal. He buried his face in his hands. "But this one is special," he whispered.

"They're all special." The words were flat.

"Then what were _you_ seeing when you watched him out there? I saw the expression on your face! Admit it, you were captivated!"

"Of _course_ I was captivated!" snapped Bruce, "He was-" he caught himself and stopped.

"What was he, Bruce?" Kal wanted to know, wanted to know what Bruce had seen.

"He was...flying." He bit out the words but could not keep the echo of wonder and raw longing out of his voice, then he spoke again, more softly. "Flying."

Suddenly it was hard to speak. _I didn't know you wanted that._ "I...didn't know," said Kal awkwardly.

"Neither did I.  I never knew a human could...do that. Could _fly_." Again, that echo of awe, of yearning.

 _I would take you flying, if you'd let me,_ thought Kal, but he knew that wasn't what Bruce meant. Kal didn't know what to say; there was nothing he could say. Hearing the hunger in Bruce's voice hurt. He changed the subject. "He *is* special," he said, scowling as he realized that he sounded petulant.

"Yes," said Bruce, surprising him. "He is. He's damn smart, and a consummate actor, and an excellent manipulator. And if you brought him home, exactly how long would it take for him to find out about the Cause, about us?"

 _He's right,_ Kal realized. They couldn't possibly hide the truth from this boy, especially if he was sleeping in the same room. "We could invite him to join the Cause!" he said desperately. "Surely he'd be useful, with his acrobatic skills and his-"

Bruce just stared at him for a moment. "Kal, _what are you saying?_ You would 'rescue' him just to throw him into something far more dangerous? The Cause isn't for _children!_ "

He was right again, of course. Kal felt a stab of guilt and anger and lashed back. "You just told me that there are millions of slave children in the world. Are you saying that his safety is more important than their freedom?"

" _Listen_ to yourself!" Bruce was furious, almost yelling now. "You said you wanted to save him. How could working for the Cause save him? You would condemn him!"

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I've seen it happen before, dammit!" He began to pace, his words coming faster and faster. "You say he'd be 'useful'," he gave a bitter laugh. "You have no idea just how useful. I could think of a thousand ways I could use him, and every one of them would be invaluable, and every one of them would put him in danger, danger he'd only revel in. He's reckless, all brilliance and no subtlety or restraint, and he'd do anything we asked him to again and again until one day he was caught and beaten to death." He stopped abruptly, whirling around to face Kal. " _Is that what you want?_ "

Kal blinked and tried to form a reply, but he couldn't seem to make his mouth move correctly. Finally he said hoarsely, "Are we still talking about _him_?" jerking his head in the direction of the bed.

And all at once Bruce looked tired. "Yes," he said. "No." He combed a hand through his hair and sighed. "It's late, Kal. Maybe we should-" He stopped as Kal held up a hand, looking towards the bed. The boy was twitching under the sheet, his face screwed up into a look of pain.

"He's having a nightmare," whispered Kal, and went to him, leaving Bruce behind in the circle of silence.

* * *

Interlude 3:

Outside of the circle, the boy's whimpers were clear. "No," he murmured, then sobbed. "No! Fa-falling. Save them! Please _save them!_ "

Kal put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "It's all right," he said gently. "It's all right, just a nightmare."

The boy's eyes snapped open, and for a moment he looked about him wildly, then stared up at Kal with his tearstained face. "I'm s-sorry, Master," he said.

"It's all right," Kal repeated. "It was just a nightmare." He sat down next to the boy, stroking his hair as he had done earlier. "Do you want to talk about it?"

The boy was quiet for several minutes, his breathing slowing as it became clear that Kal was not going to punish him. His body began to relax, his eyes sliding shut. After a time he began to murmur sleepily. "Only have it when I sleep alone...always the same," he was already half-asleep again. "They're falling, and no one will save them...no one..because he was clumsy...clumsy slave...thought so...thought it was his fault...then I found it...the burn...on his hand...'m sorry...daddy...not your fault...not...your..."

Kal waited until the muttering subsided completely, until the breathing smoothed into the even rhythm of sleep once again. Then he lay down next to the boy, the boy that looked so much like a young Bruce, and watched over him until his own eyes grew heavy and he, too, slept.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please." The word was very quiet, and the older slave went still, his back to Dick. "Please take me with you. Please."

Dick woke early, into that odd, twilight time just before dawn. Slowly, silently he slipped out of bed, careful not to wake his Kryptonian Master, and crept into the other darkened room of the suite. A hand closed around his wrist and he froze, but did not make a sound.

"I want to talk to you," said a voice in the darkness.

Dick's eyes flickered to the sleeping form barely visible in the other room. "He can't hear us," said the voice.

Raising an eyebrow, Dick took a breath and yelled, "Hey! What are you doing?"

The sleeping form didn't even twitch.

"Impulsive, aren't you?" The voice was dry.

"I trust my instincts," replied Dick easily.

"And what do your instincts tell you now?"

He chuckled, a far different sound than the boyish laughter of the previous night. "They're telling me not to tell you what my instincts tell me. "

A snort and then, quietly, "Good boy."

Dick tugged against the hand still holding him and it opened, releasing him. He reached over to a tray sitting on a side table, picked up a couple of pieces of fruit leftover from the previous night, and casually began to juggle them by feel.

"Was that all you wanted to say to me?" he asked, his tone lightly insolent.

"No." Dick neatly picked each piece of fruit out of the air and then bit into one of them. The other man was silent for so long that he had time to finish one and start on the second before the man finally spoke. "You want my Master to purchase you."

Dick waited a moment before replying. "Jealous?" he asked. "Afraid he'll succumb to my more...youthful charms and discard you?" He chuckled again, this time it was low and sensual. "You needn't be. I'm sure we could show him that two is better than one."

The other slave frowned for a moment, just visible in the gradually lightening room. Then the frown smoothed away again. "Oh, you are good," he said, almost as though he were talking to himself. Then, his eyes re-focusing on Dick, he went on, "That was quite a...performance you gave last night."

"The Master seemed to like it."

"Hmn." A noncommittal sound. "He told me he was thinking of buying you."

Hope leapt into Dick's eyes in spite of himself. "Did he?" his tone was casual.

The other man studied him in the gray light. "Why do you want him to purchase you? Why not stay here, perfect your...act?"

"Wait for some brutal Master to buy me? Wait until two rival Houses want me so much that either of them would kill me to keep the other from having me?" He snorted. "Everyone says the House of El are kind to their slaves-" He was seized by the wrist again, dragged forward until his face was inches from the other slave's.

" _Who says that?_ "

Dick paused, looking up into those fierce eyes, then shrugged delicately. "One can hear a lot by listening," he said, watching the other man's face. The dark eyebrows twitched, the eyes narrowed even more, but he released his grip on Dick's wrist. "Slaves talk about their Masters. Sometimes without saying a word."

"And Masters talk about each other."

"They do. Not that I understand them, of course."

"Of course."

They were silent, studying each other, blue eyes meeting blue in the dawn light.

"What do you want, boy? What is it you're looking for?"

Dick's expression was guarded, but there was a spark in his eyes.

"The House of El is a powerful House," his cheerful voice at odds with his wary expression. "Even a slave might find opportunities there."

"Opportunities for what?"

Dick did not reply immediately.

"It's late," he said finally. "The Master will awaken soon."

The older slave's hand shot out once again, unbelievably fast, and closed around his wrist. "Opportunities for _what_?" he repeated as he gave Dick a shake, his face close and threatening.

Dick tilted his head and looked at the other slave slyly under his lashes. "I'm not afraid of you," he said. "I could go out there and make a fuss right now, and get it all blamed on you. I could get you whipped...even if your Master didn't want to, he'd _have_ to, for the insult to his host." He grinned, suddenly cocky, and met the other man's eyes fearlessly.

The other slave took a deep breath and slowly released his grip on Dick's wrist. "That would be...inadvisable," he said with a small smile.

Dick's own smile faltered for a moment. Then it...shifted, became rueful. "Of course it would," he said. "Perhaps...You know, it wouldn't be difficult for me to start a rumor that he's cruel in bed."

A slight frown. "Why would you do that?"

"Oh, I just thought you might like it," he replied off-handedly.

"And why would you care what I like?"

"Because I think you have a great deal of influence with your...Master."

The other man's eyes narrowed. "You are mistaken." He turned away.

"Please." The word was very quiet, and the older slave went still, his back to Dick. "Please take me with you. Please."

The older slave didn't turn, didn't look at him, but there was a stiffness to his body. After a long moment, he said gruffly, "I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do," and walked away.

* * *

Interlude 4:

"I trust you enjoyed the boy?"

"He was...most satisfactory."

"No one has ever complained." The slave-master did not leer, but his smile was suggestive.

Kal shifted uncomfortably and forced himself to smile back.

The slave-master took a bite of fruit and dabbed his face delicately with a napkin. "Such a _talented_ boy." He chuckled a little. "They told me I should have castrated him when I had the chance, but-"

" _Castrated_ him?"

"He had a lovely voice when he was younger. Taught him some old Kryptonian songs - phonetically of course - and he was quite the darling of the women. But I knew he'd be even more popular if he were allowed to mature _fully_. I have an eye for these things...and singing was only one of his _many_ talents." His eyes slid to Kal again. "You must have used him well...the other slaves said he insisted on eating breakfast standing up this morning." He looked amused.

"He-he did?" Kal struggled not to look too startled. Bruce jerked slightly next to his leg and Kal glanced down to see a smile tugging on the edges of the other man's lips.

The slave-master laughed lightly. "He'll be quite the rage in a few more years...soon the ladies will be wanting him even more than the men." He watched Kal narrowly, smiling only with his mouth. "Of course, I have had some tempting offers for him. Just this morning Kash-Ar was saying that he'd be willing to give me a *very* good price-" he stopped as Kal made an abrupt movement. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Nothing at all." Kal swallowed, choking down the bite of his breakfast sticking in his throat.

Some of the other man's amusement made it to his eyes this time. "As I was saying, Kash-Ar made a most _generous_ offer for him...really, I have no choice but to consider it."

Kal's hand closed into a fist under the table. Bruce's grip on his calf tightened in warning.

"You know," said Kal abruptly, "I am engaged."

"Yes, so I had heard." The slave-master's smile was not quite ingratiating.

"I've been considering purchasing a slave as a gift for my future bride on our wedding day. Something pretty, and. Talented. Bright."

The slave-master's eyes gleamed. "Of course. Did you have something specific in mind?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His father, sailing through the air, his hand closing around the metal bar of the trapeze just like a thousand, thousand other times. His mother, joining him, hanging from his other hand, their hands clasped for the last time.

Dick brushed his hands together and began to climb. Last night had gone well, he thought. He'd made some mistakes...threatening that older slave had certainly been a miscalculation...but he thought he'd recovered from them fairly well. The trapeze bar was comforting in his hands, the heat-resistant polymer just coarse enough against his grip that he needn't fear slipping.

First, a quick warm-up routine. He swung easily back and forth, somersaulting through the air, letting his strength show in a way he never would in front of an audience. It wasn't _strength_ the Kryptonians wanted.

It felt good to stretch his muscles. He'd over-extended himself a little the previous night, but how could he have stopped? He'd *had* to keep going, had to hear every note he could before the Master tired of it, of him, and turned it off.

Except he hadn't turned it off.

Dick's movements faltered for a moment.

_With a Master like that..._

He recovered.

The House of El was powerful, influential. And with a Master like that, a Master who was, kind, lenient...

He finished his warm-up and slipped into the familiar routine, not thinking too hard, just *feeling* the way it should go...

Softly, softly. Feather-light, graceful, sensual. Don't let too much show, not too much strength, not too much tension. Eyes wide, childlike. The hips and buttocks an invitation. The stance open, vulnerable, helpless against superior strength, yet not _quite_ available. His body, lean and hard, a temptation, yet...feminine.

Beautiful.

He smiled at his invisible audience, at the seats he could not see through the glare of the stage lights.

With a Master like that, he would have countless opportunities. That other slave had wanted to know, wanted to understand what drove him, but how could he have explained?

 _The dispute between Tral-Ev and Orn-Mo has been resolved._ The slave-master's words came back to him clearly. _You have a final show tonight, and will leave with the House of Ev tomorrow._ His mother had merely nodded; there was nothing else she could do. She was a slave, after all, and luckier than most. She'd earned special treatment with her talent, the privilege of staying with her family far longer than she'd had any right to expect. And then not one, but two powerful Houses had tried to claim her, and the resulting drawn out dispute had given her even more time, more than she could have dared to hope for.

At least, that's what she'd told them after the slave-master had gone away.

He remembered the look in Orn-Mo's eyes when he'd come to see her and Dick had hidden and watched. Cold fury, misery. _The House of Ev,_ his face twisted with bitterness, _discovered an old debt. It cancels my - our - c_ _laim_ _._ His mother's voice, gentle, kind as she was to everyone. The flicker of hatred in the man's eyes when he looked at Father, the jealousy and bafflement.

And then, the show, that evening. Their last show as a family.

His father, sailing through the air, his hand closing around the metal bar of the trapeze just like a thousand, thousand other times. His mother, joining him, hanging from his other hand, their hands clasped for the last time.

The last.

His father's sudden, strangled cry, before, _before_ he'd let go. The long fall, so slow, his own throat raw from screaming. The audience, staring, leaning forward, blinking...any of them could have saved them, any one of them. But he was just a slave.

Just a clumsy slave.

It was his own damn fault.

That's what Dick told himself, over and over. He was a clumsy slave. They were stupid, clumsy slaves.

Until he saw it, the thing he wasn't supposed to. The mark on his father's hand. The...burns. The place where the skin was welted and melted and gone where his father had tried to hold onto the bar that was suddenly too hot.

The ice. The ice that rose up in his body, his stomach, his limbs, when he realized the truth, when the pieces had come together. Kryptonian heat vision. Orn-Mo's jealousy.

The cold, cold resolve.

A slave could never hurt a Master. But that didn't mean that a slave couldn't have _power_ over a Master. He remembered the way Orn-Mo had looked at his mother. It didn't mean that he couldn't *use* a Master. And with the _right_ Master...

 _Suicide,_ he'd overheard the slave-master saying one day. He'd gotten a lot better at hiding by then. It was hard, all his instincts were for showmanship and center-stage, but he was learning. _He didn't want his mate sold, so he killed himself and her._ Dick wasn't even surprised. He'd also heard Orn-Mo offering to pay for both of the slaves. As a gesture of good will. Of course.

If hiding was hard, making people...like him had been easy. Almost too easy. Except the parts that...weren't, at first, but...as he'd gotten older, that had gotten easier, too.

He was almost surprised to realize he was coming to the end of his routine - he'd lost focus, caught up in thoughts of the past. He pushed them aside, concentrating on sailing through the air and reveling in the feel of the wind against his body, the sharp arc and familiar swing of the trapeze. He didn't even realize he had an audience until he finished with a final flip and took a bow.

* * *

Interlude 5:

A man stood, watching him. Dick squinted against the glare of the stage lights and caught the shine of a silver collar. Ah, a slave, then. In fact...it was the older slave from the previous night. Walking with a suggestive swagger, Dick approached the other man, who watched him with interest and...something else in his eyes. It wasn't lust...Dick was well acquainted with what that looked like...it was something softer, hungrier.

"Couldn't stay away?" Dick smiled sharply.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh?" Dick cocked his head to one side.

"My Master is...currently in negotiations to purchase you-" Dick could not, quite, stop the sudden leap of excitement in his eyes, "However, he has decided not to take you back with him just yet."

Dick stared at him blankly. " _What?_ "

The other slave continued on, his voice devoid of emotion. "He has decided that you...should stay here. Perfect your technique. On the trapeze." He scowled.

Dick just looked at him, feeling the bottom falling out of his stomach. "But...he's buying me, but he doesn't _want_ me?"

"The Master doesn't like *children*," the man's voice was deliberately insulting now. "When you've had a chance to _mature-_ "

Dick knew an act when he saw it. "You son-of-a bitch," he said, too upset to guard his tongue, guard himself. It didn't much matter now anyway, he thought angrily. "So I'm just supposed to _stay_ here, to _wait_ , like some princess in a fucking castle?"

The man's eyes were cold, warning. "Yes," he said. "And be grateful for it."

Dick couldn't speak. He wanted to scream. Years of planning and training for...what? For some rich Master to buy him and lock him up and _leave him here?_ It was almost funny. His lips twisted in a grimace. As a slave in the El household he would have had opportunities, to see things, hear things. He could have done *something*. He _would_ have made his Master love him. He would have had his _vengeance_.

And now...

He flung himself away from the other man and into violent motion, clambering up the ladder with more speed than grace. He gripped the trapeze with brutal strength, pushing himself beyond pain, beyond fury.

Voices below him.

His new Master was there now, smiling at the other slave, saying something.

Bastard.

Bastard!

Dick's hand tightened even further on the bar, then a thought struck him, and he smiled bitterly.

And let go.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy tumbled through the air, his fall the least controlled, least graceful thing Kal had ever seen him do. And yet, it was only Bruce's choked cry of "No!" that made him realize that this wasn't part of the act, that there would be no last minute catch, no rope or trapeze swinging down from nowhere.

The boy tumbled through the air, his fall the least controlled, least graceful thing Kal had ever seen him do. And yet, it was only Bruce's choked cry of "No!" that made him realize that this wasn't part of the act, that there would be no last minute catch, no rope or trapeze swinging down from nowhere. Kal's body seemed to move by itself in that moment, swooping forward and pulling the boy from the air, catching him and pulling him up, away from the ground, almost too late...almost.

He hovered in the air for a moment, clasping the boy to his chest, then drifted back down and gently set him on his feet. The boy's face was pale and his eyes were wide and filled with wonder.

"You saved me," he said. "You...you _saved_ me."

Kal lifted a hand, palm up, and gave a half-shrug. "You fell," he said helplessly, and felt that what he did not say hung on every line of his body, in the air between them. _What else could I do?_

The boy swallowed, once, twice. "I...I didn't fall. I mean. It wasn't an accident. I let go."

Next to him, Bruce twitched.

"You _let go_?" said Kal in disbelief. "You *wanted* to die?"

The boy bit his lip and looked away. "I-I just..." Sudden tears came to his eyes and he dashed them away angrily. "I want to go with you. I don't want to stay here and-" He looked at the ground, clearly struggling for control. "I don't want you to leave me behind."

Kal and Bruce looked at each other helplessly. Kal tilted up the boy's chin until he could meet his eyes. "Oh..." he hesitated, then said softly, "Oh, child, I don't even know your name."

"My parents called me Richard. Richard," he paused as though about to say something else, then went on. "But everyone else calls me 'Dick'."

"Dick," said Kal and laid a hand on his shoulder. Then he shook his head and smiled a little. "Richard." The boy looked up at him. "You really preferred death to being left here?"

"I-" He looked away again, turning his head to look at the ring. "I was angry. I didn't really think about it, just, it wasn't worth staying here anymore, it was pointless and so I-" He swallowed again. "As soon as I let go, I realized...I didn't want...but it was too late. But then..." he looked up at Kal again, his eyes full of awe and fear and raw confusion. "You saved me."

"Yes," said Kal simply. There was nothing he could say to excuse or explain his actions.

"Master," the boy frowned a little and then said slowly, "I...have another name."

"Another...?"

"My father called me 'Richard', but my mother, she...she used to call me..." his voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper. "R-Robin. Nobody remembers that but me. I want...I mean, I wish..." he shook himself, straightening his back, taking a breath and smiling up at Kal, "If it pleased you, Master, if you dislike my other names, you might call me 'Robin'. It's...it's all I can..."

"Of course," said Kal, more warmly than he intended. "Robin." He released the boy's shoulder and tousled his hair for a moment before the boy suddenly seized his hand and covered it with kisses.

"Master," he said fervently between kisses. "I would do anything for you. I-"

"Robin-" Kal whispered, stunned. He managed not to flinch away from the boy's sudden display of devotion. "Don't-"

At his words Robin slid to one knee so gracefully that it made Kal's throat hurt. "Master," he whispered, still holding Kal's hand in both of his. Like a talisman. Like a pledge.

Kal felt frozen to the spot. Finally he managed to give the boy's hand a small squeeze and gently pull his own away. He touched the boy's hair and said in a low voice, "Robin, can you be patient?"

Robin bit his lip and cast his eyes down. "Yes, Master."

Gently Kal reached down and tilted his chin up, meeting his eyes. Something like determination crystallized in Robin's expression as Kal began to speak again.

"I will return for you. It may not be long at all, perhaps a few weeks or a few months. Or it may be as much as years, but I will return for you. Or...if I cannot...that is, if I am _busy_ ," he hesitated and went on, "then Bruce will come for you and. Care for you." He looked at Bruce, asking with his eyes. "Won't you, Bruce?"

Bruce met his gaze and nodded. "Of course, Master."

Robin looked from one to the other of them, a slight frown between his eyebrows. "Master, I will wait for you." If there was a slight emphasis on the last word, Kal pretended not to hear it.

"In the meantime, you must stay here. You'll be given...time. To practice. You'll no longer have to provide...favors, for the guests." _You'll be safe here, until...Until._ He reached into a pocket of his robe. "I have something for you," he said, and gestured to the boy to rise.

The boy stared up at him and rose with the same almost inhuman grace he'd displayed before. "Master...?"

Kal took the boy's arm and pressed the small crystal to the inside of his arm, paper thin and only about an inch square. It adhered easily and almost invisibly to Robin's skin, and the boy's eyes widened in sudden, startled delight. Kal felt an answering smile spreading shyly across his own face. "You'll be able to hear it as long as it has contact with your skin," he explained, knowing that the boy could hear him over the music emanating from the apparently silent device. "It will adhere anywhere on your body." The boy nodded. Kal reached out and tapped the crystal, his smile widening at Robin's gasp as the tiny screen flared to life.

"It contains every piece of Earth music from the archives," Kal said simply. "Perhaps it will make the wait more bearable."

With trembling fingers, Robin tapped the tiny screen, once, twice, three times. Then he tore his eyes from it and looked up at Kal. "I..." His voice shook. "Master, I..."

Kal looked away and said awkwardly, "Try not to get caught with it. It would be something of an embarrassment to me to have to explain how my slave had obtained such a thing."

The boy's eyes burned. "I...I would never betray you, Master," he choked out. Kal could hear his heart pounding as it had the previous night, could hear him swallowing. "I... _never_...Master, I-" Suddenly the boy stumbled forward and threw his arms around Kal, hugging him hard. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Kal softly, hugging him back and wondering if he would ever see the boy again. "You're welcome, Robin."

* * *

Interlude 6:

"Does it have a meaning?" Kal asked later as they prepared to leave.

Bruce looked at Kal curiously. "Does what have a meaning?"

"The boy's name. Robin."

The corners of Bruce's mouth twitched. "A robin is a bird," he said. "They used to be quite common."

"Used to be...?"

"The iao are poisonous to them."

Kal sighed.

"These days a robin is a rare sight," Bruce went on softly. "But it's a tough little bird. A survivor. Some say it's lucky to see one."

"I hope so," said Kal, thinking of the task before him. Before them. "I hope so."

~ _Fin~_


End file.
